


The Patrocliad

by ThePurpleBird



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology, Original Work, Song of Achilles- Madeline Miller, The Iliad-Homer
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-17
Updated: 2016-10-21
Packaged: 2017-12-29 16:23:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 14,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1007528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePurpleBird/pseuds/ThePurpleBird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the great hero Achilles died he expected to walk in the Elysium fields with the one he loved for all eternity.  But the one he loved wasn't there.  How could it be paradise without Patroclus? And so he went to bring him home.  With Olympus itself divided over the Punishment of Patroclus and the Gods themselves choosing sides no one expected Achilles to succeed.<br/>But after all this time it seems the immortal Gods still haven't learnt the lessons of the past.  Achilles would rip cities asunder, dry up the river Styx even climb mount Olympus and topple the Gods themselves, to see Patroclus in Elysium. <br/>And By the end, he will have done far worse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Underworld

“Sing Goddess, of the anger of Achilles, son of Peleus”

                                                -The Iliad, Homer

 I felt empty. Even as I strode of the wastelands of Hades towards the Elysium fields I felt incomplete. But every step I took I felt a little less empty, and slowly my stride turned into a jog which became a run. I did not stop. I did not stop for the mutilated shadows of the dead warriors, whose hands’ stretched out towards me as I ran pass. I did not stop for the golden gate that guarded the entrance to the Elysium fields. I did not stop for the familiar voices that called my name. I did not stop for the endless meadows of plenty and goodness. I ran, following the tugging sensation I felt, if I could just reach it! I sped by faster than the east wind himself, eyes growing wide in horror as I realised exactly where the tugging was taking me- down to the bank of the river Lethe. Dropping to my knees in front of the dread river I grabbed my hair and smeared my face in dirt in grief. He was long gone. I had lost him again.

 “I am sorry, Son of Peleus.” I raised my eyes to the dark haired goddess standing beside me. I heard someone with my voice dully ask where he was and where he had gone.

 “He has drunk from the waters of the river Lethe to return to the land of the Living. It was not his fate to die so young.” Leaning forwards I wrapped my arms round the goddess’s knees in the universal gesture of supplication. Whatever I asked of her she would not be able to refuse.

 “My goddess, please let me follow him, I” I winced when I heard my voice crack, “I cannot be without him. Let me follow him, so that we may come to Elysium together and spend our days in eternal bliss.”

 The wife of Hades, god of the dead stooped to look me in the eyes, dark eyes full of concern. “My child, surely it would be far wiser to stay here in Elysium and simply wait for him? Years on Earth are merely hours in Elysium.”

 I clenched my hand tighter in her long Chiton.  “My lady, I am not known for my mental prowess, I leave that to the King of Ithaca. I am a simple man but I know, and have always known, when men lie to me.  I know, therefore, that you my lady do not tell me the truth of the matter.” I spoke without fear, my worst fear had already come to pass, what more could the goddess do to me that would pain me more?

 Breaking out of my hold of supplication, the dark haired Goddess ran a hand through her hair, looking almost haggard. (Haggard? Could a goddess look haggard?) Turning doe eyes on me, she sighed once. “I knew that you, son of Peleus, would not believe me.” She rubbed her eyes, “He can not come to Elysium, Apollo will not let him.”

 I blinked once. Twice. A third. “Why does Apollo care?”

 “The Elysium fields are for heroes who have died in honour” I nodded slowly, this was common knowledge.

  “He said that Menoitiades did not die honourably. He argued that he was killed wearing honour he borrowed from you” Fixing an eye on me she waved her hand in a pacifying manner. “Sit down child” I had not even realised I was getting up, my body tensed with anger.

  _Running past walls so tall they must have been built by the Gods.  Terror. Fear. PleasegodsIwanttolive.  A spear thrown. A last thought. Achilles!_

“Many of us disagree; the arguing was so severe that it divided Olympus, till eventually we reached a compromise. Great Hearted Menoitiades will keep being reborn till he proves his worth enough to tilt enough of the Gods in his favour.”

 “Then let me help him! Please!” I leapt up, “send me after him!  Let me be reborn with him, with all my memories so that I might aide him. I all I wish to do is help.”

 The Goddess stared at me. “Are you sure?” I nodded. “Very well then. I will set up a portal- a doorway of you like. She turned away from me, waved her hand and what looked like the entrance to a temple appeared. “Should you fail you will be returned here, and will be given the choice to go to Elysium or walk back through the doorway again. Do what you will, but know that no one will force you through that door, not even if you beg them to. Remember, do not let Menoitiades out of your sight, for when you do Apollo will strike, and he will kill him. Menoitiades’ heart will be his undoing. Do you understand?”

 I didn’t reply, I had already turned to walk through the doors, and in an instance I was gone.

 

* * *

 

Persephone closed her eyes. When she opened them again she was standing before the Council of the Gods.  “It is done. Although I want you all to know that this is wrong.” She looked at Shinning Apollo, “I do not approve.”

 Apollo laughed and everyone in the room felt the gentle heat of the sun warming their faces whilst he did. “I do not seek your approval for this. If Menoitiades is as you say, worthy, then he only needs to prove it-“

 “That is not what I mean.”

 Apollo went silent.  A voice, like the sound before a storm echoed round the room, “Then what, oh daughter do you mean?”

 Persephone turned towards her father. “Lord Zeus, I am referring, naturally, to the brave Hero Achilles. He does not understand.”

 The lady of Love, Aphrodite leaned forward in her seat, a laughing lilt in her voice “I believe he understands perfectly, he knows that he and Menoitiades shall keep getting reborn till his comrade proves himself. Why would you say he does not understand?”

 A new voice broke the silence.

 “What my Lady Persephone means is that he believes there is hope.” All the gods’ heads turned to the dark haired youth leaning against the entrance way to the hall. Standing up he strode in, running his hand along the bow strung across his sun kissed shoulder. “The fact is that there is no hope. None at all. You all know this.” He eyed the gods, more than one of them incapable of meeting his piercing blue eyes. “The whole point of this is that some of you have taken petty offence to Patroclus and are therefore engaging in this whole game as some form of retribution.  Patroclus is never going to reach Elysium, as all of you well know and, by dooming Patroclus you doom Achilles as well.”

 Golden haired Aphrodite spoke up again “and why should that be so, Eros? The men are close companions I grant you but the son of Thetis-“

 “Achilles needs Patroclus and you all know it.” Eros brushed back his dark hair from his face with a careless gesture.  “And Achilles and Patroclus are more than just close companions as you well know. Or do you refuse to acknowledge love that does not have your hand in it?”

 Aphrodite flushed prettily with anger. “I don’t know what you mean.”

 Eros raised an eyebrow, “If you can tell me, honestly, that you do not resent Patroclus and Achilles because they found love without you, then I will be amazed. The whole reason you have sided with Apollo over this matter is because you dislike the fact, that despite all your attempts to the contrary, they still continue to love each other” Turning away from Aphrodite in a dismissive gesture Eros addressed the King of the Gods, Zeus. “Patroclus is what keeps Achilles human. It reminds him of his mortal blood and prevents him from committing hubris. Achilles cannot live in a world without Patroclus. It would be an unspeakable cruelty. By allowing this cycle to happen, you are allowing Achilles to believe that Patroclus will be able to reach the Elysium fields. Achilles is tenacious; he will keep trying to save Patroclus as long as he thinks he can save him. To allow Achilles hope, in a world where there is none, is cruel. That is what the lady Persephone means.”

 Eros stopped, paused for a moment to consider, and then spoke again. “I will help as indirectly as I can; I leave now to consider the best strategy to help them both. I care not what you all think; I only care to do what is right.” Turning on his heel he strode out the door way.

 “Wait!” Persephone hurried after him, “I will come too, I cannot sit idly by and watch this happen”

 “And I will come as well.” Grey eyed Athena rose from her seat where she had been taking quiet council with Artemis, Goddess of the hunt. “This is wrong. I dislike the way that many of you are acting like spoilt children; it seems to me that some of you are throwing a tantrum because you cannot get your own way.” Striding out of the hall, she bent down gracefully to pick up her Aegis and helmet, hot on her heels was the wine-loving Dionysus who had been contemplating his thoughts in the corner of the room, refraining from speaking and weighing up the best course of action.

 Hermes the messenger God exchanged a glance with Poseidon, Lord of horses and both men stood up and followed the exodus out of the room. Hestia, Goddess of the hearth was not far behind, quietly slipping out of the room, like a shadow caused by candle flame.

 Artemis, the virgin sister of Apollo, draped in moonlight stood up slowly, and padded, cat like, to the door way where she paused. “Today, something dreadful has happened.” She turned to her brother who had half risen from his chair when he saw that she was leaving. “We have done many things together, you and I, battled monsters, protected innocents, hunted together, guarded the sky. But today-” Artemis’ voice had a small quiver, her usual poise and grace slipping ever so slightly. “Today Brother, you have made me ashamed to be your sister.” And with those words she fled the room, leaving behind her brother's horrified and grief stricken face.

 Father Zeus stood up and addressed the remaining Gods. “I remain neutral in this debate; I care not for either way, my only concern is that the fates remain silent on what we have decided. It makes me uneasy. Nevertheless I will stand by the agreement, should the time come that all the Gods stand on the side of Menoitiades and Pelides then I shall reconsider but till such a time come I will let it be.” Zeus frowned, storm clouds gathered in the sky outside. “I do not like to see Olympus thus divided. It pains me”

 War like Ares was the only one to answer him. “If they did not deserve it then we would not do it.”

 Zeus just sighed in response.

 And in that moment the Division of Olympus was complete.  

 


	2. The Begining

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Achilles is reborn for the first time. It does not go as smoothly as he hoped.

The first time they were reborn it was in early Rome.  They were both cousins, as they had been the first time and they both grew up together as shepherds. And in his joy at seeing Patroclus alive once more Achilles forgot Persephone’s warning. “ _Do not let him out of your sight, for when you do Apollo will strike, and he will kill him_ ”. It happened when Achilles least expected it. 

One day after a particularly vicious argument with the owner of the flock the boys looked after, Achilles threw down his shepherd’s crook and refused to work for the owner any longer. And though Patroclus tried to reason with him, Achilles would not be placated. So when night time came and the time for Achilles to watch the flock arrived, Patroclus put on Achilles’ distinctive purple cape, crept past the sleeping Achilles and went out to watch the flocks. After all, he couldn’t just abandon the sheep to the wolves, particularly as lambing season had just passed. _“His heart will be his undoing”_

Achilles awoke, with a start, to the sound of screams. 

Running out of the hut where they lived, Achilles raced to the hill where the scream had come from. The scream that had sounded an awful lot like Patroclus. 

Blood. There was blood everywhere and a single unmoving body. Patroclus ’ body.

“I-I thought he was you” Achilles lifted his eyes from the scene his mind refused to process in front of him, to the owner of the flock and a group of men stood behind him.  “I- I wanted to teach you a lesson- I didn’t mean too!” 

Achilles saw red and lunged. But he was unarmed and there were twelve men. What could he do? 

When he was finally brought low, he had killed ten of the men including the owner, and was able to crawl over to his cousin’s corpse where he held Patroclus’ cold hand as he died. 

 _“He was killed wearing honour he borrowed from you.”_  

And then he was back in the Elysium fields again with the doors right in front of him. Achilles glanced around in hope that Patroclus would be standing by him. He was not there. He was lost again. And so Achilles walked through the doorway again. 

He did not notice the group of dead warriors watching him as he did so. 

 

The second time Achilles was born as a Hebrew Prince, as the son of Zedekiah, in the land of Judah.  Whilst he was growing up his Father was made the puppet king of an enslaved people by King Nebuchadnezzar II of Babylonia. But always he looked for Patroclus. 

Whilst walking in the market when he was on the cusp of manhood, Achilles observed the sale of slaves in the Slave market. This sale itself was not unusual, but still Achilles lingered, observing one slave in particular.  He didn’t recognise the face, but something told him he knew this slave. 

“He’s from Egypt.” Achilles turned to a tall man beside him, wild black curls framed his face and he held a cup of wine in one hand. “A rarity it must be said, I expect he’ll go for quite a lot, especially considering his intellect.” 

Achilles tilted his head, nose wrinkling as he smelt the man next to him, he smelt like a drunkard. “His intellect?” 

The drunkard nodded, “yeah apparently the boy can read and write, he said to be an excellent scribe, especially as he can speak our language.” Sloshing the remains of the wine around in his cup the drunkard looked thoughtful. “Think his name was Pratrockless or something?” 

“Patroclus!?” Achilles suddenly became a lot more interested in what this purple clad drunkard was saying. “Are you sure?” 

The man smirked, taking another sip from his cup “of course I’m sure. The bidding just started and they called out his name.” Pushing past the man Achilles raced forwards to the slave market, to save Patroclus from slavery. 

“You’re welcome!” Came a sarcasm filled voice from behind him. The drunkard rolled his eyes as he looked into his empty cup, wishing it was full again. “The young people of today. So impolite” Tutting he strode away and was gone. 

After a heated bidding war between the young prince and a shop keeper, Patroclus was handed over to Achilles with all pomp and circumstance.

Taking a hold of the rope that bound Patroclus ’ hands together, Achilles led them away from the market to the palace and from there to his private room. Turning towards the slave he clasped a knife in one hand and advanced on him slowly, as he would a wild animal. 

Eyes growing wide and dark skin paling, the Egyptian started to babble nonsensical words at the prince. All Achilles could understand were the words, “No” and “Please,” mostly because they were repeated so many times. 

Achilles shook his head, horrified at how frightened the man was. What the hell had the slavers done to him? “No, I’m not going to hurt you; I just want to cut your bonds.” He gestured at the knife, if you want I’ll give you the knife and you can cut them yourself. Alright?” Bending down, he placed the knife on the space of floor between them and backed away, eyes never leaving Patroclus ’. 

Snatching the knife up; Patroclus held it to his chest and retreated a corner of the room where he undid his tied wrists. Rubbing the chafed skin he raised his eyes to the troubled looking Blond in the opposite corner of the room. “Why did you not just cut them?” 

Tilting his head Achilles tried his best to smile reassuringly at the Egyptian, “I don’t want you to be afraid of me.” 

“Why?” 

“Why what?” Achilles turned away from Patroclus to pour some water into a cup and held out the cup to him. “Drink up, you must be thirsty.” He was taken completely by surprise when a hand shot out and smacked the cup from his hand, the metal clattering to the floor and the water spilling out all over his feet. 

“Stop it! Just stop it!”  Patroclus balled up his hands as if he was going to punch the Prince, “whatever you’re planning just do it!” breaking up into sobs he brought his hands up to cover his face and slumped down in the corner, curling up into a ball. “Just get it over with.” 

Achilles had done many things, killed many men and seen many atrocities but the pitiful sound of Patroclus crying was the most terrible sound he had ever heard.  Feet silent on the marble floor he walked over to the Egyptian, bent down and wrapped his arms round the sobbing boy. “I won’t hurt you” Achilles shook his head and silently vowed revenge on those who had hurt his Patroclus this way. “I’ll never hurt you Patroclus, I swear it.” 

Big dark eyes peered up at Achilles from underneath a nest of black hair. “I do not understand you. I can take punishment, pain no longer bothers me, but I cannot fathom why you are being kind. I am a-a slave” Patroclus almost spat out the word in his disgust, “I am your property you can treat me however you like, you could kill me and suffer no consequences.  So why are you…?” 

Achilles finished off the trailed off sentence. “You’re upset because I am treating you like a human being, is that what it is?”  Patroclus nodded. Raising a hand to brush a lock of Patroclus’ hair behind his ear Achilles said tenderly “Because you are the only thing I care about in this God forsaken world.” Ignoring Patroclus’ puzzled blinking at him Achilles reached out a hand to help him up. “Come on, lets get you out of those rags, they’re not fit for a prince’s companion.” 

Patroclus took the hand.  

And the years past and slowly the Prince and his slave reached the point of friendship that they had originally been, back when they were fighting, long ago, for another man’s woman.  And they grew and bloomed into men, and love. But it could not last. And it didn’t.

 

 

 


	3. The Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Achilles comes to a blinding realisation after a meeting with an old friend and begins and an observer begins to regret ever being a part of this fight.

Slaves flinched in terror, men peered out of their doorways, and one woman who had been busy doing her makeup, smeared her kohl all over her face in shock at the sound of a slamming door coming from the royal quarters. Achilles flung his royal robes on his bed in fury and paced to the window, Patroclus bending down to pick up the robe Achilles had cast off and put it on himself in an attempt to try and get the creases in it right. Why was Achilles so careless with his clothing? Did he not know how much they cost? For God’s sake they were in the middle of a siege, did he think they had clothing trees which had robes growing they could freely pluck from?!

“What the hell is my father playing at? He’s playing with fire I tell you!” Slumping down the wall by the window, Achilles ran his hand through his hair. “Any fool can see that we are not going to win, so why will he not just surrender and try and settle for peace?”

Patroclus crouched down and out a comforting hand on Achilles shoulder. If you had seen him all those years ago in that market square you would not have recognised him now. Fed better than most of the nobles in the palace, much paler through spending hours indoors keeping Achilles company and dressed in Achilles’ own robe, he was regularly mistaken for the brother of Achilles rather than his slave. (Although he was slave only in law.)

“You know your father is just trying to do the best he can-“ 

“It’s not good enough!” Patroclus reeled back shocked into silence by this outburst from his friend. Achilles sighed, “Listen I’m just tired. Will you please just let me contemplate this…alone.” Nodding once Patroclus rose and was gone. Achilles released his anger in the only way he knew how other than fighting, he picked up things and started throwing them. 

Patroclus was still wearing Achilles’ robe. 

“He was killed wearing honour he borrowed from you.”

Achilles was awoken by the sound of screaming. Instantly awake, years of listening out in the night to make sure the other person in your bed is still alive will do that to a person; he leapt out of bed and grabbed his sword, running bare chested into the corridor. 

It was like Troy was falling all over again. 

Everywhere men were fighting in hand to hand combat, women were screaming and cradling babies and children and permeating the air was the sickening smell of death. A horrific cocktail of the smell of fresh blood and raw flesh.

It was into the chaos that the Prince of Jerusalem stepped out, but in his sleeping attire he looked no more royal than the slaves, in the confusion he was swept up in the panicking crowd and carried down the hallway and out into the courtyard. Gathering his senses Achilles raced for the high curved wall of the perimeter of the city gate. 

He had to find Patroclus. 

After dispatching a few soldiers idiotic enough to challenge him Achilles reached the highest point of the city. He did not turn round. What point would there have been to do so? He could hear the screams of his people well enough and he could feel the heat from the fire the invaders had lit in the temple.

The flames from the burning temple lit the wild plains for miles around, illuminating the group of people who had evidently been trying to flee and had been caught by the Babylonians.

Achilles always did have good eyesight, and he would have recognised Patroclus blind, deaf and dumb. One by one his brothers were dragged in front of the king and had their throats cut. Achilles all but leapt from the wall. But he was too late. He was always too late.

Achilles!

A swish of a purple cloak, a spurt of red and Patroclus’ lifeless corpse fell to the ground. By the time Achilles had got there all that was left were the cold corpses of his brothers and only friend. He collapsed to the ground tears streaking his cheeks as he desperately shook Patroclus. 

“Patroclus? Patroclus! Get up! Get up. Please. Gods please.” Bleary eyes focused in on the pitiful sight of his father the king surrounded by his dead sons “You did this! I told you to try and sue for peace! This is your fault!” 

“He claimed he was the Prince Achilles.” Achilles raised his eyes to the man that stood a little taller than the rest of the soldiers. A commander maybe? Achilles didn’t care. “I take it he was lying.” The Commander looked thoughtful. “Whoever he was he wanted to keep you safe.”  
Achilles coiled over Patroclus’ slowly stiffing body, still garbed in Achilles’ purple and sobbed.

A soldier looked at the commander, who quietly nodded, and raised his sword to impale Achilles.

The sobbing stopped.

The sonless King of the Jerusalem looked from his last son to the commander. 

The commander smiled grimly “an act of kindness. Now.” He bent down and picked up a sharp stick from the ground, “Hold still my king.” He smirked, “This won’t hurt a bit.”

No one noticed the man clad in wine purple, with wild dark hair, watch with horrified eyes and no one noticed him disappear either. 

 

And so it was that Achilles found himself by the door way again. Squaring his shoulders and with tears still freshly drying on his cheeks he walked forwards towards the doors when he was stopped by an hand on his arm. He wheeled around. 

“Odysseus?” The same cunning that he had posed when he had been alive filled the King of Ithaca’s eyes and a broad smile cut his face in half. 

“The very same Prince of Ithaca” Placing a hand on Achilles shoulder, Odysseus leaned forwards to Achilles in a conspiratorial manner. “So tell me princeling, when are you going to come in to Elysium hm? Your friends are waiting for you; the feasts simply aren’t the same without you and Agamemnon riling each other up! We’ve even begun to miss you beating all of us at sword practice!”

Achilles offered a bittersweet smile. “There will be no homecoming for me Odysseus, not until Patroclus is safe in Elysium too.”

Odysseus’ smile fell. “Yes I heard which is why I came. I alone of the other Greek commanders who went to Troy understand. I know that it is hard for you to accept but I want you to”

“No!” Achilles shrugged off Odysseus’ hand on his shoulder “I will not give up! I shan’t!”

“Will you let me finish!” Silenced by Odysseus’ tone Achilles nodded once briskly. Odysseus continued. “If I knew Penelope was out there unable to reach Elysium I would do everything in my power to help her. You must believe me Son of Peleus. I love her. I would do anything for her. But- and this is what I want you to think about, if Patroclus was in the same position as you, and you in his, what would you want Patroclus to do? Because I know what I would want Penelope to do, and if you love Patroclus as much as I think you do then you would want the same.”

“I would want him to go to Elysium and leave me.” Achilles looked grief stricken. “But I can’t. I can’t.” Turning on his heel he raced through the door and was gone.

Odysseus sighed. “I tried. Let the gods witness I tried”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to apologise that this chapter is late, but! here it is, I hope it acceptable. I shall try and update every week but we will see how long that lasts! Once again please do review! Thanks for reading!


	4. Olympus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Gods discuss in Mt Olympus and stiffen their resolve to save Patroclus and Achilles.

Pacing. Up and down. This is what Poseidon, Lord of the sea, been doing for the last three hours. 

“Will you stop that?!” Athena looked up from where she and Eros had a map of Rome on the table. “You’re driving me insane.” Poseidon sighed and sat down, before tapping his fingers on the table in front of him anxiously. Athena rolled her eyes and mentally beseeched the Fates for patience. “That is not much better.”

Poseidon rubbed his ever changing eyes, although at the moment they were the sea green you see in a sheltered cove on a warm sunny day. “I apologise Lady Athena, I am merely concerned about Dionysus. I have not seen him since the last reincarnation.”

Athena glanced at her uncle, brows tight with stress. “Yes. It did seem to shake him. I’m just annoyed we had to send him at all. I had not realised the other side were going to play dirty. Trying to sell Patroclus to a shop keeper indeed, we’re just lucky that Achilles happened to be in the market place that day!”

“You have no idea how lucky we were. You really don’t want to know what the shop keeper had planned for Patroclus.” Eros shivered in disgust. “Makes me feel sick thinking about it.”

Athena looked horrified and Poseidon went a rather fetching green that complemented his eye colour very nicely. 

The grey eyed Goddess spoke, “But he brought a boy afterwards. He couldn’t have been more than ten, you mean to tell me that he-“

Eros cut Athena off with a simple “Yes.” Poseidon turned from green to white and Athena looked like she might be sick. 

Any ensuing conversation was cut off by what sounded like a toddler having a temper tantrum outside the hall that the Pro-Patroclus Gods had commandeered. 

“Get offa me. Letmme go. ‘Cept you princess, you can stay.”

The three gods in the hall exchanged glances, then as one they rushed out into the courtyard outside the hall, to see a rather interesting sight.

Dionysus appeared, being dragged along by Artemis and Hermes, both of whom were looking very put out. 

“I am not paid enough to do this!” Hermes gave an almighty push as he huffed out the words and Dionysus moved forward a few more paces.

“You’re not paid at all!” Artemis appeared to be wrestling with Dionysus and was rather red in the face.

Stepping forward Poseidon scooped up the wayward God, and carried him over the threshold of the hall, looking for all the world like a young husband carrying his blushing virgin bide to their new home together. Hermes and Artemis stumbled together and collapsed on the floor outside the hall. Poseidon was used to dealing with lithe nymphs who could turn themselves into sea foam, so the drunken God’s wriggling really wasn’t an issue. Although his drunken slurs and chat up lines were a different issue.

“Hey hey! Are your feet tired ‘cause you’ve been running through my head all day?” The virgin goddess blinked up at Dionysus who was leering at where she and Hermes were collapsed on the floor. “Aw honey, you are kinda cute. You know I have really soft thighs, wanna see?” If the wine God’s smile had grown anymore he would have resembled a leopard skin clad Cheshire Cat. 

Hermes got to his feet almost shaking with muffled laughter. “Seems you have a suitor my lady.” 

Poseidon placed Dionysus down in a chair gently and turned to talk to Artemis. “Where was he?”

“The stables. He must have been there for days.”

“Days?!” Artemis nodded her head gravely, single plait swaying from side.

“Get. Off. Me. Now. “The four gods currently in discussion turned to see Dionysus clinging to Hermes’ leg and slowly sliding his hand towards the god’s crotch. Hermes looked like a deer in the headlights. “Make him get off!”

Artemis gave her moon smile, full of mystery and unshared jokes. “Not so funny Dionysus being a pervert now, is it my lord?”

Dionysus looks confused. “What do you mean?” His grin returned “You mean he enjoyed it before?” “Looked up at Hermes he wriggled his eyebrows. “Come on. I did offer to show you my thighs. What more do’ya want?”

Hermes looked mildly perturbed. “No, that was Artemis. That was to Artemis right!?” Looking at the gods for confirmation all he received was hysterical laughter. Poseidon in particular had collapsed on the floor, evidently unable to control himself. Athena was not much better, the normally reserved goddess having just made it to a chair. 

The laughter was broken by a whimper from the wine loving God. “Please.” Tugging on Hermes tunic he resembled more a small child begging it’s father to save it from the monsters under the bed than the twenty year old male he physically looked like. “I just wanna forget. Please. Just make it stop.”

Hermes bent down to the drunk god. “Make what stop, Di?”

“The cycle.” Dionysus looked at his bare feet. “You didn’t see the look on his face. He- They Broke Him! They broke the greatest Greek warrior! How could they?” Big watery black eyes peered at Hermes from underneath a black nest of hair. “I don’t understand.”

Hermes looked sad. “Neither do I Di. I don’t understand either. Come on. Let’s get you in bed.” Bending down he picked up Dionysus, gently resting Dionysus’ head on his shoulder, and supporting him with a hand under his back and knees, much like he had done when Dionysus had only been a child, and he, his faithful guardian. 

He walked past the silent gods, Dionysus’ muffled sobs the only sound in the room, before he paused and spoke in a tone the other gods had not heard him use in a long time. The voice of the one who had killed the hundred-eyed giant Argus. “They will pay for this. All of them.”

The gods watched in stupefied silence as he disappeared down the road before returning to the map on the table, determined that this reincarnation would be the last.

But what can the gods do against the invincible will of the fates, the mighty ones, whom even Zeus cannot order?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I meant to make this cheerful. Honest.  
> Anyways thank you as always for reading, please do review!


	5. Slavery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Achilles has some unexpected visitors and faces some bitter home truths.

Chapter 5 – A small coastal town in the Bay of Naples, the Roman Empire- 79 Ad

 

This time Achilles was the slave. And he learnt the bitter yoke of slavery and endured it all- so he might see his beloved once more. He endured watching his village being burnt to the ground, he endured the salt mines, hacking away at the long years of his life and he endured being chosen as a gladiator and sent to a wealthy town by a mountain.

He endured it all for Patroclus. 

This time, however the Gods were there. He may have not seen them but they guided him through it. Artemis protected him whilst his mother begged for his life, as his home burnt around him. Poseidon instilled the quiet patience of the sea as it wears away the cliff face in him whilst he was beaten by the slavers in an attempt to break his spirit. Athena wrapped him in her Aegis as he learnt how to put on a performance for a Roman audience. Eros simply watched his dreams. 

And then he was in the arena. Fighting other slaves for the pleasure of freeborn Romans.

Golden haired Achilles had fought on the battlefields of Troy, he had laid low pious Hector, He had been-was still, Aristos Achaion, best of the Greeks. But this? This was not fighting. This was butchery. 

And yet the crowed cheered. Cheered for their golden haired prince. The prince of the arena.

In the crowd a concerned father, silently watched this graceful killer and plotted.

“I don’t understand? What do you mean I don’t have to fight?” 

“You’ve been brought Hercules. You’re to be the guard of a young lady, and her father is quite protective of her. The deal is already done Hercules.”

Achilles rolled his eyes; he was the great Achilles, reduced to pottering after some spoilt brat. Then he was in the atrium of the roman house, with cool marble underneath his feet speaking to his…owner. 

“You are to protect my daughter at whatever cost, and to accompany her everywhere. Is that understood slave?” 

Achilles nodded and looked at the ground. “Yes Sir,”

“Good, I’ll let my daughter introduce herself.” Turning on his heel his owner walked away to the exit of the house. 

But Achilles didn’t notice. There was Patroclus! In all his...maidenly glory?

What? 

It was Patroclus that Achilles was sure of. Yet he was clearly a girl. Was Patroclus the daughter he was meant to protect? Achilles could scarcely believe his luck. 

“Hello. My name is Patroclia. I understand you are to be my guard?” Patroclia tilted her head at him and smiled reassuringly, “my father has given orders that all other slaves are to offer what ever help they can should you ask. As for us I’m sure we will be good friends.”

It was him. The same dark hair and eyes. The same lean figure that belied the strength hidden within. The same kindness. 

Achilles inwardly praised the Gods. 

Never praise the Gods too early. 

“Patroclia?” The word was breathed out, but Patroclia just smiled at him broadly. 

“That’s right! I’ve been told you’re name is Hercules?”

“No.”

Patroclia looked startled, like a wolf caught off guard by a lion. “No?”

“My name is Achilles.”

“Achilles.” Gods now even her eyes were smiling. Was it even possible to miss the way someone’s eyes shone so much? “It suits you”

Achilles took the hand that Patroclia offered him and followed her further into the house, listening to her excited chatter about the house and the forum, and her promise he would visit it soon. But mostly her chatter was about the Festival of Vulcan the next week and how the family celebrated by feasting. Finally she turned to him; dark eyes meeting his vibrant green ones. 

“I must confess I tried my best to dissuade my Father when he told me he was getting a gladiator as my personal slave, but he insisted. ‘Only the best for his only daughter’ he said. But I’m really glad he overruled me.”

Achilles flashed a smile at her, (he wouldn’t admit how long it had been since he’d actually smiled.) “I am equally glad, little one.”

Patroclia turned to him in a flash, hands on hips and legs wide, “I am not little! Take that back you giant!”

Reaching a hand he bent down to pat the top of her dark curls, “But you are little, little one. And I am hardly a giant, I am only a little taller than average.”

Cocking her head, Patroclia looked at Achilles quizzically. “You are not like other slaves.”

Achilles had forgotten that in this life time they were simply mistress and slave. “I am sorry if I have been over familiar.” There was a pregnant pause as Patroclia stared at Achilles as if he held all the secrets of the world, whilst he held his breath for the dismissal from her service that was surely going to come. 

“I like it.” 

Achilles blinked. “You do?”

Patroclia nodded enthusiastically “Mhm, I like my slaves to have a back bone, it makes conversations so much more interesting don’t you think? Anyway I am going to tell my father that I like you and you can stay. If you want to go find it, the slave quarters are at the back of the house- not that you’ll be using them, you’ll be sleeping outside my door.” And with that Patroclia was off.

Achilles took this opportunity to collapse in a heap on the wall surrounding the house. Patroclus was here. Achilles’ job was to protect her. The Gods must be on his side. 

“So you’ve found one another again have you?” Achilles glanced to the side where the voice had come from, before scrambling to his feet and bending into a low bow.

“My lady Athena.” (Who else could it be? Besides back in his war days he had seen Athena before, often in the company of Odysseus) Athena smiled reassuringly at Achilles.

“Rise young hero. I came to make sure that everything had gone according to plan. No one shall disturb us during this time Pelides.” Waving her hand a chair appeared behind her and she sank into it gracefully, long white Chiton flowing down to the cool marble floor, Aegis tucked around her shoulders. Placing her shield and spear on the floor she looked the epitome of the word ‘relax’. Waving her hand again Achilles found a chair behind him and he too sat down. 

“So I have you to thank for this?” Achilles made a gesture with his hand that indicated the entirety of the house. 

Athena nodded, before bringing her dark hair, tied in its customary pony tail to the front where she began to braid it. “I amongst other Gods have been watching Achilles, and we wanted to make sure you knew we are on yours, and Patroclus’ side.”

“Side?” Achilles had heard this sort of talk before. A long time ago, when he was still a Prince, inwardly he began to pray what he assumed was wrong.

“Some of my fellow Gods do not feel that Patroclus deserves to reach Elysium. This you know. What you do not know is that they are actively plotting Patroclus’ destruction.”

Wait. What? No. 

“My lady this can not be.” Achilles attempted to reason with the truth what he had already guessed. “Why would they do such a thing? I don’t…” Trailing off at the sad look in Athena’s eyes, Achilles grew angry, leapt out of his chair and began to pace. “How dare they?! How could they refuse to let such a good man as Patroclus into Elysium! He who made so many rich offerings to them!”

Athena attempted to placate the angry hero, “Achilles I know you are angry, and you have every right to be so but you are not alone.” 

Turning to Athena in one sharp movement Achilles cocked his head at her. “Oh yes because that’s done me and Patroclus so much good! We’re on what? The third lifetime? How many more must we suffer before their anger is assuaged? Huh?”

A voice that was not Athena’s answered him. “You presume much Son of Peleus.”

Athena’s angered face told Achilles all he needed to know, he tuned on his heel to see golden haired Apollo leaning casually against a wall. 

“How dare you come here Apollo.” Athena didn’t shout. She never did. She just silently seethed and plotted your demise. This was the war Goddess Athena. The Goddess of strategy and she would not let Apollo walk all over her. “You have the nerve to come here, to speak to Achilles?”

Apollo stood up straighter and smiled at the angry goddess. “I have as much right to be here as you, or do you forget who Patroclia’s father prays to every night to protect his daughter? You are forgotten and unimportant in this new world Athena, Go back to your weaving” The scorn in Apollo’s voice was obvious. Turning his attentions to a stupefied Achilles, Apollo continued, “You blame us Achilles, but we have done very little to interfere.”

“Do not do this Apollo.” Achilles turned to see Athena stretching out a hand to Apollo. 

“I will do it Athena. Achilles deserves to know don’t you think?”

Achilles looked vaguely confused. “Deserves to know what?”

Apollo’s smile was positively predatory. “Patroclus keeps dying because of you. The fall of Jerusalem? Patroclus was wearing your robe for a reason; he thought that you might be able to escape if the Babylonians thought he was you. The first time he was trying to make sure you didn’t lose your job. Even his original death was because of you and his desperate attempt to protect your shinning name.”

Achilles paled. “No. It’s not true. You’re wrong.” Turning once again to Athena he found her to have vanished. 

Apollo shook his head. “No son of Peleus. I am the one who sees the future, I cannot be wrong. You know we do not even need to interfere to make Patroclus walk to his death. He goes to the altar willingly; his blood stains the temple steps, his self sacrifice for you.” Apollo walked around Achilles. “And for who? The egotistical son of a powerless ocean nymph?”

A new voice spoke up as soothing as waves lapping on the shore line. “An ocean nymph perhaps, but powerless I am not.” 

Achilles breathed a single word. “Mother”

Thetis smiled at her son, before moving to stand in between him and the sun God, eyes flashing. “You forget your place Apollo. Leave. Now.”

Apollo laughed, “You think to threaten me? The God Apollo? I am of the sun, Nymph, fear me.”

“And I am his mother. Fear me.” Achilles had never seen his mother so angry- he had only ever seen her when she was calm. Thetis was a sea nymph, and like the water she inhabited she had mostly two states, calm, deep but willing to help fishermen on the way home. This was the tricky sea, with its treacherous currents and hidden rocks that would smash a ship before anyone had even seen the danger. This was no water a mother would let her child paddle in. This was Thetis at her most lethal. 

Apollo smiled, “very well nymph, I shall leave, but, son of Peleus? You will always be the reason Patroclus dies. I speak not as Apollo but as the voice of Delphi here, I speak the truth.” And with a burst of light Apollo was gone. 

Thetis turned to a devastated looking Achilles. “Oh my child. Come here.” Opening her arms, Achilles fell into her arms, clutching her deep sea blue chition, still wet from where she had been swimming in the sea. “My boy, my poor boy. I am so sorry.” Petting his blonde locks with a damp hand, she rocked him backwards and forwards as she lowered them both to the floor. 

And if you had been watching as Athena was then, having returned from fetching Thetis, you would not have seen an immortal sea nymph holding a powerful hero, but a distraught mother comforting her weeping son.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry whatever you celebrate! I hope you enjoy this chapter, I've been having internet problems which is why this is later than usual.  
> As always thank you to those of you who leave kudos and comments. It really does make my day.


	6. The Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For all their talk no God comes to help Achilles.

Chapter Six. -The Fall.

 

 

Achilles was on his knees. Again. There had been five earthquakes in the same amount of days. Achilles swore privately to himself that if he had to clean Patroclia’s floor one more time! Well. He didn’t actually know what he’d do but it would be bad. Probably. He still couldn’t believe he’d been living with Patroclia for almost a week. It was like a dream.

If it was a dream he didn’t want to wake up.

Reaching up to stretch he twisted his head to catch Patroclia staring at the long line of his back, raising an eyebrow at her, he tried to hide his smile at her blush. Patroclus always was beautiful when he blushed. Well...More beautiful. Was that even possible?

The last week had been unbelievable, and the festival to Vulcan had been amazing. Achilles hoped Hephaestus was pleased by the celebrations. Achilles had never forgotten the stunning armour Hephaestus had made for him when the Greeks were at Troy.

Finally finished with his task Achilles turned to Patroclia to ask her if she was ready to go out for Lunch.

He never got the chance.

At that moment the entire house shook, doors rattled on their hinges, pots fell off tables and shattered onto the floor, as if a huge explosion had just happened. Lunching across the floor, as graceful as a dancer, Achilles reached for Patroclia and pulled her into the relative safety of his arms as he waited for the shaking to stop 

To Patroclia’s credit, she didn’t scream, and it was only when the shaking had stopped that Achilles realised she was trembling. Before he had the chance to ask if she was alright, she stood up and ran to the window, pale face turning white.

“What is it?” Achilles crossed to the window, before attempting to crane his neck around Patroclia to see out the window.

“It’s the sky. The Sky is turning black!” Patroclia’s face was upturned, face catching the midday rays, and it also caught the shadow stealing across the blue of the sky.

 

Patroclia’s father was packing, he had come home almost two hours earlier and was gathering up what looked like the family’s wealth and treasures. Achilles and Patroclia were packing food supplies and clothing into a bag as her father talked.

“You will stay here and guard the house from intruders. I expect you to do your duty, both to the house and our family, you understand slave?”

Achilles nodded once, he did not understand what exactly was happening but whatever it was he wanted Patroclus away from it.

Patroclia looked startled, “But Father, surely he should come with us?”

Her father smoothed her hair back and smiled down at her “My dear he is only a slave. I can always get you a new one later. But bless your gentle heart.” Turning away to grab the bags he completely missed the expression of disgust on Patroclia’s face. “Let us go my dearest.”

Grabbing Patroclia’s hand, her father led her out the house and into the chaos of the street outside.

Patroclia turned her head as they walked through the door and silently mouthed “good bye” at Achilles. Achilles just smiled back.

She was safe.

So Achilles waited. Sat in the Atrium as he was, it was the plop of something falling into the water basin behind him that alerted him to the latest threat. Pulling the stone out of the water, Achilles examined it. This was no ordinary stone; it floated, yet was also clearly made of rock. The issue wasn’t the stone. It was the _stones._ The house was only built for Pompeii weather, the roof of the house was not that strong, if the stones built up the roof would collapse. Yet he’d also been told to guard the house, so guard the house he would.

It was a couple of hours till dawn. Achilles had been on the roof of the house, more times than he wished he had been to prevent the roof collapsing. Admitting defeat (not an easy task for him) Achilles decided to abandon the house. It was only a matter of time before the roof feel down, and Achilles had no intention of dying this young. Not when Patroclus was still alive and well.

Patroclus.

Darting into the street, Achilles ran down the stone strewn streets, attempting to make for the gates that lead to the countryside. Avoiding tripping up just barely, Achilles bent down to pick something up. It was something he recognised. A snake Bracelet. Patroclia’s bracelet.

Turning round with a start Achilles realised the truth. Patroclus could not have dropped this when he left, the stones would have covered them up. Which meant...

Gods No.

Dashing down the street back to the house, as quickly as a salmon moves through a river.

He was too late. He always was.

Skidding to a stop in front of the house, Achilles resisted the urge to throw up. Picking his was through the rubble of the house he let out a cry of anguish at the sight of a pale hand sticking through the dust. Ripping through the rubble he cradled Patroclia’s corpse to his chest. He’d never know that she came back to tell him to abandon the house. That she defied her father. That she came back to save him.

_“We do not even need to interfere to make Patroclus walk to his death. He goes to the altar willingly; his blood stains the temple steps, his self sacrifice for you.”_

And when the Mt Vesuvius let out it’s final death toll, spewing a Pyroclastic Flow that killed everything in its path. An avalanche of hot ash and stones and death. Achilles was still cradling the body of his beloved.

And many years later a genius Archaeologist was excavating Pompeii and had the idea of filling in the gaps left by the corpses in the ash with plaster, to create an impression of the body.

And many years after that The British museum held an exhibit called life and death in Pompeii, where they displayed the artefacts from Pompeii. It was an amazing exhibit, and many museums lent the British museum artefacts for it. But the exhibit no one could stop talking about was called the lovers, a plaster cast of a slave boy holding the body of a wealthy girl. The placard for them read

“ The Lovers, an ancient version of Romeo and Juliet. These two were found in the house of the Verlii. Ancient sources describe this house as belonging to a wealthy man and his daughter. The Father’s name is unknown but his daughter was called Patroclia. Evidence suggests that a slave fell in love with Patroclia. It seems they all fled Pompeii when the eruption happened. However for whatever reason Patroclia returned to the house and the roof collapsed on her, killing her. The slave returned and found the woman he loved dead, and in the ensuing pyroclastic flow, also died. We cannot know what would have happened to the lovers had the eruption not happened, Patroclia was certainly at an age to be married.

It is possible that this slave was in fact the legendary gladiator Hercules, who was brought by an unknown man as a protector for his Daughter. Whilst there is no concrete evidence for this, the daughter of the man who brought Hercules is mentioned by name- Patroclia. Many ancient persons of note and archaeologists wondered what happened to the famous Hercules. When the house of the Verlii was mentioned with the daughter’s name of Patroclia, it was a massive breakthrough. Thus it was very exciting when the house of the Verlii was finally discovered, including the cast that you seen now. It was an interesting twist in the tale to discover that Hercules may have in fact found love in the end.”

 And on a hot day in June 2013, two boys, one with hair like the sun and one with hair like the night, walked into the exhibit at the request of the darker haired boy who wished to see the lovers.

 Their names? Achilles and Patroclus.

But that was a very long way away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry this has taken so long. I had a play that took over my life but I am now free! So expect more regular updates. Promise! Also I've been thinking about making a tumblr blog for The Patrocliad, somewhere where I can post head cannons, one shots that you never see, and general stuff to do with the world of the Patrocliad. (Such as context ect) Also you can ask questions and things! so yes. Thats a thing. Its not up yet but expect it soon!   
> (It's live! It's pretty bare at the moment but it is a thing! Here it is! http://the-patrocliad.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Also I'm not sorry. At all.


	7. Hera

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermes is fed up, Zeus has left the building

Chapter seven-Hera 

 

Olympus was in uproar. Everywhere you went there were Gods shouting at one another, arguing with each other and bickering with one another.

 There was no place in Olympus you could get peace. Even Athena’s vast library was filled with shouting Gods. Zeus was nowhere to be found, most Gods assumed he had abandoned Olympus to its fate and was now somewhere on Earth. Many Gods did not blame him.

 And then? Then there was silence. Olympus watched Pompeii be destroyed in a stunned quiet. Watched Achilles not even attempt to escape the volcano. Watched his death.

 Hestia wept. Artemis refused to even look at Apollo for days; Dionysus drank excessively, even for him. Poseidon quietly vanished back into the sea, where he promptly found his wife and refused to let her out of his sight, Amphitrite found it oddly charming. Athena drowned herself in military strategy.

 Hermes watched the Gods fall apart around him before deciding enough was enough, and called the Pro-Patroclus Gods to a meeting.

 “We need a new strategy.” Hermes crossed his arms and stared at his fellow Gods. “Ours is clearly not working, and their deaths are getting more horrific.”

 “Then what do you suggest Hermes?” Athena shook head sadly “I do not think there is anything-“

 “You appal me. Look at you! You are Athena! Goddess of Wisdom and battle strategy! If you put your mind to it there is nothing you cannot do! ‘I do not think’.” Hermes imitated Athena. “That is exactly your problem my Lady! You are not thinking!” He turned on his heel and addressed the room of Gods at large. “If we do nothing then the others will win. If we give up? Well, I am not the one going to tell Achilles that we are abandoning him and Patroclus because we ‘gave up’… Do you remember the first time Achilles lost Patroclus? I will never allow a repeat of that. Do you hear me?”

 The majority of the Gods had the grace to look abashed when Hermes paused for breath. Hermes may have been one of the younger Gods, but he knew how to persuade people. He was the God of Shopkeepers for goodness sakes! (And thieves, but that was completely unrelated.)

 Dionysus just sighed and took another sip of his wine.

 Hermes glanced around the room once more. “Hang on. Where is Eros?”

 Poseidon answered quickly, looking pleased that he was able to divert Hermes’ rage. “He involved in some tricky business of Aphrodite’s I believe. I would have thought you knew? Aphrodite has been seething in anger for the last few days. Apparently she ordered Eros to make some poor girl’s life miserable because she was almost as attractive as Aphrodite. Unfortunately Eros fell in love with her instead! So Eros has been caught up in making sure the girl, (I think her name is Psyche or something?) doesn’t die. I think Eros is planning on making her an immortal. But, I don’t know too much about that.”

 Hermes looked vaguely confused before shaking his head, “well anyways, we need a new strategy, and I think I know just the thing. This time if the others want to take on-“He froze at the sound of someone opening the door to the room they were holding their meeting in.

 All the Gods in the room watched, perplexed as Hera, queen of the Gods stepped into the room.

 “I-I” Hera was completely white, except her red rimmed eyes which gave away the fact that she had been crying. “I have come to join you.”

 “What?” Dionysus voiced the opinion of the room. “Why would you do that?”

 Hera sank gratefully down into a chair Poseidon had pulled out for her, gently squeezing his arm in silent thanks. “It was them. Hephaestus. My son! He-he caused the eruption. He killed all those people! So many innocents... And then, they laughed at the destruction they had caused. They didn’t care! And I was wrong. I was so, so wrong. I thought Achilles merely used Patroclus’ death as an excuse to kill on the battlefield. I thought he did not truly care for him. I was so blind! I did not realise... The two of them may not have said any marriage vows, but, they are married.” She drew herself up to full height in the chair. “It is my job to protect marriages, no matter who’s they are. I have failed the pair thus far but I will not fail them again!”

 Artemis offered the first true smile she’d had in weeks, “Well then, Dearest Step-mother, welcome aboard.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tis a smaller chapter, but it is by no means unimportant!   
> So many questions to be answered!  
> Why does Apollo hate Achilles so much?  
> Where is Zeus?  
> Where will Achilles and Patrolcus end up next?  
> I don't know! I'm making this up as I go along!   
> As always comments make my day.


	8. Patroclus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let us go back. Right to the beginning.

Chapter Eight-Patroclus. 

The first time I saw him he was just a small bundle of golden curls.

My father prodded me and told me that I should be kind to him for he was the king’s son, the same king that was giving us refuge.

I said nothing and simply nodded. I would be polite, but why would the golden prince give an outcast murderer the time of day?

Everyone loved him. Everyone would have loved him even if he wasn’t the son of a Goddess with a glorious destiny.

I loved him also. It was impossible not too. His cherubic smile could light up an entire room and he had a quick mind. He didn’t always think his actions through but that was to be expected from a young boy. 

I was ten years old and I hardly saw him. Our age gap would have put us in different training groups had the prince attended them with the rest of the nobility’s sons. 

He trained by himself. And that was alright. Everyone knew that he was already a better fighter than men three times his age. 

A few moons after my arrival I noticed that every where I went, golden curls followed me. 

People began to jokingly call him my golden shadow. 

The sun following the moon. 

I didn’t find it so funny. I was a young man (or so I thought) and didn’t have time for little children. 

But he was persistent. I went to my father to complain but he merely told me what a good job I was doing. 

But still, no matter how annoyed I was, I was still civil, giving him my figs and the like. (I didn’t really like figs and it had nothing to do with the fact they were his favourite food.)

I was eleven when it happened the first time.

I was woken up in the middle of the night by a small crying blonde lump. 

He had had a nightmare. Why he didn’t go to his father I will never know, but I couldn’t just push him out of my room when it was me he’d come to for protection. So I gathered him in my arms and sang the night terrors away, and when he was asleep I prayed that the gods would keep him safe. They didn’t.

After that he went everywhere with me. He’d sit in the shade of a tree whilst I practiced my sword play. I taught him to sing on the beach and to dance in my bedroom. But learning is a two way street. Whilst I taught him how to be a man he taught me how to love. 

People thought we were a cute, but odd pair. I was thirteen and didn’t want a seven year old trailing after me, son of a Goddess or not. 

We were in the middle of a feast when it happened. Someone asked him what pretty girl he had his eye on. Calmly he replied without missing a beat “I will marry Patroclus.” There was complete silence in the hall before Peleus burst into laughter, “Oh son you do make me laugh. You are a regular joker.” Everyone, including myself, burst into uncomfortable laughter.

Achilles turned to his father, big green eyes unblinking. “I am not joking father. I am going to marry Patroclus.”

Peleus leaned forward in his throne looking concerned, “Son, you cannot marry the boy-” 

“I will do it.” Achilles cut in expression like marble. I was startled by how much he looked like his mother. “I am half God, and the best of the Greeks. I will do whatever I like.”

The next day he left for the mountains to be taught by Chiron. 

When he came back he was seventeen and I was twenty two. 

He was gorgeous. 

Tall tanned skin, with a lithe compact build, shoulder length Blonde ringlets and those Zeus Damned green eyes. 

If you had told me that he was Apollo I would have believed you. I wanted to worship him as my God. 

I knew I wasn’t particularly bad looking per se. Dark hair and dark eyes. My face was not a bad shape and I was muscular enough. Even though to my eternal shame I had never been able to grow a full beard, just this weird black fluff. I shaved it off. 

When he reappeared into my life I was doomed. I had loved him when he was a child. I worshiped him as a man.

I wasn’t the only one. Women flocked around him, warriors wanted to talk to him. You either wanted to be him or be with him. Or Both. I avoided them all. I hated crowds. 

It happened at a feast just like the first time.

Someone asked him if he was ever going to marry a woman. He turned to them with a wry smile and said “I thought you were all aware that I am to marry Patroclus.” He then had the audacity to wink at me. 

I was horrified. 

Mortified.

After that he wouldn’t leave me alone.

He became my golden shadow again. Except this time he was not a cute five year old but an annoying seventeen year old monster. 

He left me gifts which I sent back to him. I was not a young woman to be courted. I was a warrior! 

But Achilles had a quick mind. When I sat down to eat I always had the sweetest and juiciest grapes. My sword was always sharp. There was always a seat left empty when the bards came. When I broke my favourite drinking cup I found it on my bed the next day, glued painstakingly back together.

He was mocking me I was sure of it. 

It all came to a head one afternoon. 

He bounded up to me holding a jug of wine, before grinning widely at me. “Patroclus! I was hoping you’d want to share some wine with me.” It was phrased like a question. It wasn’t. 

“No Prince Achilles I do not wish to share some wine with you. Now if you’d excuse me I have things to be doing.” I turned on my heel only to have a hand reach out and pull me up against a chest. Achilles’ chest.

“Prince Achilles!” I thrashed attempting to escape but his grip was iron. “This is not proper! I am a warrior! If you want this sort of thing then I’m sure a serving girl will be willing too-”

“But I don’t want a serving girl. I want you Patroclus.” The words were breathed into my ear. I could feel my hair stand on end. “I have only ever wanted you. Please share some wine with me.” He never said please.

I drank wine with him.

And that was the beginning of the end.

And when Odysseus saw through Achilles’ feminine disguise that his terrified mother had made him wear, I followed him to Troy. 

I followed him to the beaches. I followed him to the tents. I followed him through his anger. 

I followed him to my death. 

I bled out on the grass in front of Troy. And I would do it again. Anything for my beloved Achilles whose name was going to live forever.

And I went to the underworld alone. And that was alright. 

And when Persephone, Queen of the Dead came to me saying that I had a visitor I was confused. I was dead and in the place for unburied spirits. Which God would visit me?

I reasoned it was Thetis. She was the only I could think of that would come to see me. 

I was wrong. 

It was Apollo. 

He said he had with a message from the Fates. He disliked me but he swore he had no plans to lie to me. He could not for he swore his words upon the river Styx, the most important oath a God can take. 

He told me that the Fates had decreed that only one of us could enter Elysium. 

Apollo asked what I would choose. Me or Achilles.

It was no choice. 

Apollo told me I would be reborn many times, but that Achilles could enter Elysium. I asked him if he had told anyone what the Fates had told him. He said he hadn’t. So I made him swear on the Styx to tell no one of what the Fates had said. If Apollo did then Achilles would get wind of it and demand I was swapped with him. I could not let that happen.

He then put me back into the world. 

A world without Achilles. It was colder than I expected. 

Apollo did not lie to me. Achilles could have entered Elysium. 

But he didn’t. 

I realised my folly when I was bleeding out on the mountains near early Rome. I remembered everything. Apollo had made me lose my memories when I was reborn but in the moments before my death I remembered. I always remembered who I was just before my death. 

Achilles. No. Gods No. Please. Why was he not Elysium?

‘Because he followed you Patroclus’, a small voice that sounded an awful lot like Apollo sounded in my head. ‘He doesn’t want to be in Elysium without you and due too our little bargain I can’t tell him what the Fates told me. I can’t tell anyone not even Zeus, should he demand it. Achilles will die over and over because of you Patroclus. Because he thinks he can save you. I have to thank you. I could not have done this without you.’

But the Fates!

‘What I told you of the Fates was true. Only one of you can enter Elysium. But that doesn’t mean either of you have too.’ 

I died to the sound of Achilles butchering my murderers. 

I would die to the sound of Achilles weeping over my body in despair more often than not. 

And I broke. 

I had died to save Achilles.

Instead I had just condemned him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to point out that I never said the The Patrocliad would have a happy ending.


	9. Chapter Nine- An Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Short interlude before the world goes mad.

And shall I tell you, dear reader, of how many times the two were reborn? Shall I tell you of how many lifetimes they lived? And oh my dear, dear reader, your heart would break to know of what Achilles had done to try and save Patroclus. And your sorrow would know no bounds to know how it feels to have failed the one you love the most as you die. To know what it feels like to pretend to be normal all your life only to watch your one hope bleed out in front of your eyes. No. I shall not tell you these things. I shoulder this burden so you do not have to. But oh Gods! Is there no mercy in the heavens for mortals any more? No pity for heroes or men? 

And though I try to speak an emptiness fills me, as I bore witness to the many lives of Patroclus and his beloved. 

Should I tell you of the fall of Rome? The Plague of Justinian and how many lives it ended too soon? Of how Achilles watched his love die to something he could not fight. Shall I speak of the pillaging of the churches by the Vikings? The Black Death and the great famines. The Holy Wars which were not as holy as they were proclaimed. 

The Witch Trials which saw too many women burned alive for being better healers than the local male doctors. And the colonisation of the Americas, and the horrors that followed. 

Shall I spin the song of slavery, a bitter lament for lost homelands and stolen children? Of the vast sugar plantations and the American civil war? Of brother fighting brother and son fighting father. Of the industrial revolution which created the great British empire, but at a terrible cost. 

And shall I speak of death, which stalked Patroclus throughout it all like a wolf stalks a deer. And of Achilles who though just a mortal, lived through things that would have broken the Gods. Fierce Achilles, brave Achilles, every time he walks past Elysium it gets a little harder to say no to peace and yes to life. For every time he chooses life, the world gets a little crueller and a little colder. 

The great warrior’s strength is failing, and in Achilles’ heart he begins to understand. This quest will destroy him. He know that he cannot go on much further. He is elastic stretched too far, he can only stretch so far before he breaks. 

My young Reader, men will tell you that humanity is beautiful. And that is no lie, but it is beautiful in the same way a picked flower is. Its beauty fades and withers and it dies. What has been, can never be again. Great men and women rise and fall like flowers in the garden. Only the trees remain but even they change. And so it is for the gods. As the times changed they took on new tasks and attributes. And slowly they came to earth, to dwell with mortals once more. But Mortals had forgotten them. Had forgotten us. There was no place in this busy little world for eternity any more. 

And so sweet reader, I ask you to feel pity for the gods, lost in a world that had no time for them. And most of all feel pity for Apollo, whose hatred of gentle Patroclus knew no bounds, and whilst Patroclus lived, Apollo could not, would not, rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry guys, I suffered the worst writers block and stopped writing for so long. However I am back in the swing of it and now I know how the Patrocliad will end, and when. 
> 
> I apologise for the shortness of the chapter but it is necessary.
> 
> Also cookies to whoever spots the LoTR quote.(ish)


	10. Chapter Ten-The world goes mad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Achilles considers a knew approach and also gets a visitor and a gift.

Part two.

 

 

Chapter ten-The world goes mad.

 

 

It was the sound of silence that woke Achilles. Achilles shook his head and waited to hear the noises he had grown so accustomed too. The sound of gunfire, the shouting of orders, the screams of men who would never get to see their families again, the sound of the bullets speeding past, the deep booms of heavy artillery fire all mixing together to make music that sounded like it came from the depths of Tartarus itself. If there was a place of eternal punishment, Achilles thought that this must be it.

 

But for once the noise was silent.

 

And then there was singing. And though Achilles’ ears were ringing he could make out the words- “Schlafe in himmlischer Ruh,” Sleep in heavenly peace. The Germans, their enemy, were singing. Achilles looked down the trench to his stupefied comrades who looked just as confused as he was. Then Achilles looked up, and saw the light of Aurora creep over the horizon, it was Christmas morning. The guns were silent and it was Christmas morning. One by one the brits joined in the song until no mans land echoed with the Christmas carol. And then something even more remarkable happened. Each side scrambled over the top, but not to their deaths as usual, but to shake hands.

 

And once again Achilles saw him. Patroclus. Patroclus stretched out his hand and said in heavily accented English, “My name is Otto”.

 

Achilles grasped the hand and, smiling broadly, he said “I am Arthur Thetisson.” There was a pause as they both looked at each other, scarcely believing that not yesterday they were trying to kill each other. Achilles opened his mouth to say something, he didn’t know what but he knew he had to say something, when someone in English uniform sprinted past shouting, “I have a football! Anyone for a game?”. A cheer went up and Patroclus grinned at Achilles before both running off to where the game was beginning to form.

 

Sliding into a tackle Achilles easily took the ball before passing it to a fellow brit, taking a deep breath he looked around the mingling soldiers, most of the British he recognised but some-some were oddly familiar and yet he didn’t know them. Some soldiers were waiting patiently in line while a man in English uniform sat cutting a German’s hair. Achilles recognised the English man. No soldier in this godsforsaken war was that clean- and with the golden hair it had to be Apollo.

 

Achilles pivoted and there was Dionysus in German uniform sharing cigarettes with Poseidon dressed in British uniform and a group of older soldiers, turning again he saw Germans and British playing a game of poker, all of whom seemed to being beaten by a young lad, Achilles blinked once and the lad was Athena laughing, blinked again and it was just the young man again.

 

What was this Achilles thought? Had he died last night? Was this a dream? Achilles felt a hand on his shoulder, and there stood Artemis, sweet beautiful Artemis with her long dark hair tucked up in her cap, and dirt blending in with her freckles. She was smiling at him, the skin around her ice blue eyes crinkling up in mirth. “This is no dream Achilles.” She waved her hand around the battlefield. “You know, I have always been impressed at the forgiveness of humans, of your ability to see through each others’ eyes.”

 

Achilles scrunched up his eyebrows, “Did you do this?”

 

“Us?” Artemis laughed, “No, Son of Thetis, we did not do this. Perhaps Pax, but no other Gods. You did this Achilles. You and the rest of the soldiers”. Placing her hand on her hat to keep it in place she ran off in the direction of the football game where no one seemed to think the female soldier that had just appeared unusual.

 

Achilles glanced to the football game where Patroclus was talking earnestly to the original owner of the football about the merits of Everton and their chances in next years’ premier league. It was in that moment that Achilles had an epiphany. It was him that condemned Patroclus, so what if he just didn’t talk to Patroclus, he’d be alone again but at least Patroclus would be safe. But for today, today there seemed to be a truce between Gods and men. Today there would be peace and laughter and the bonds of friendship forever linking the two armies. Today all up and down the war scarred earth the guns were silent and the enemies were mingling. It was a peaceful Christmas indeed.

 

But it could not last, and finally the guns rang out and everyone scuttled back to their trenches with hasty goodbyes and it seemed to Achilles, curled up in his little dug out, that it had almost been a dream.

 

“Achilles”. It was the soldier who had owned the football. He looked barely 21, so young and so far away from home. But he had called him Achilles- and there was a look of mischief in his eye, and although Achilles had never met him before he knew exactly who he was.

 

“Hermes”. Hermes crouched down, dark floppy hair almost obscuring his eyes, a crooked grin on his face, and a grace fluidity to his movements that seemed to Achilles like every move was carefully thought out and yet completely spontaneous. Hermes raised a hand and gently caressed Achilles’ dirt covered face, rubbing his thumb over Achilles’ dry pink mouth.

 

“Your mother bade me give you this, to stave of the cold and I also included a gift from myself. Happy Christmas Son of Thetis. Be strong, but I warn you Achilles, Patroclus’ time is running out. Not just in this life, but his soul. ” Hermes pressed a brown package into Achilles’ hand, winked once before getting to his feet and vanished down the trench.

 

Looking down at the small package Hermes had given him, Achilles opened it slowly. Inside was a dark green scarf that faintly reminded Achilles of the sea, putting it on Achilles felt the warmth of his mother and of her sisters, the sea nymphs. And as for Hermes’ present? Achilles knew that there was no better gift than chocolate from Mt Olympus.

 

And wrapped up in his mothers’ love and eating chocolate from Olympus Achilles could almost forget Hermes’ warning.

 

But Achilles was not the man he had been, broken by the endless cycle and Patroclus’ repeated deaths. Achilles was reaching the point where he would do anything to save Patroclus, whom Achilles knew, no matter what the legends said, was the best of the Greeks and always would be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do hope you enjoyed this chapter- I also wish to point out that what you are all reading is the bare bones of the story- I plan (once finished) and elaborating the chapters adding more in (ect) but I like having the story finished as well so. yup. what you read is the main plot.   
> Also massive shout out to my glorious partner who does most the editing gods bless you because sometimes I spell so badly even spell check doesn't know what to say.   
> as always comments and reviews are very appreciated- my partner always knows when I get one because I run through the house shouting about how someone reviewed and "oh my gods they're so nice-people are actually reading my shitty writing"  
> As always- see you next chapter.


	11. Those who don't learn the Past are doomed to repeat it.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second world war begins- and in the madness an aged Achilles is just trying to protect his son.

Achilles had been waiting for the announcement of the war. He and his son sat around the radio, listening to the prime minister make the broadcast Achilles had been expecting. 

 

Achilles had listened carefully to the radio these last few years and he had heard the drum beats of war, the way only those who have been at war can. He had known it was coming. He always did. But Achilles was old now. Too old to go to war.

 

Achilles looked at his son, barely a man at 19 and knew that he would be going to war, as he himself had gone not 20 years earlier. 

 

Achilles knew Aiden would come back to him. 

 

The gods, surely, would not be cruel enough to take away Achilles’ only joy. 

 

When Achilles had become a father he finally understood what had driven Thetis to dress him up in a dress and try to prevent him from going to war. But Achilles knew better than that. He knew there would be no talking his son from wanting to fight for his country. Aiden, like most boys his age thought it a great honour to fight for his King. Achilles understood. He had been like that a very long time ago. 

 

He had tried his best to train his only son to survive. And whilst Aiden was no way as good as Achilles he was more proficient than most other men. He was one of the best sharpshooters Achilles had ever seen. He might have been even better than Achilles at Sharpshooting. 

 

And as soon as he could Aiden signed up to join the army and he was gone. 

 

Achilles was not ashamed to admit he cried the first night he was without his son.

 

But there were other things to occupy his time. 

 

Other People. 

 

After the Great War Achilles had tried to find out what became of Otto. Of Patroclus. He had lived. Achilles had quietly met him in Paris after the war, a few years after Aiden was born. 

 

Patroclus had moved to France, settled down, owned a bookshop. Never married though. And if Achilles had used his high ranking army status to facilitate Patroclus’ move then that was between him and Patroclus. Even if Otto hadn’t been Patroclus Achilles would have still tried to find him. What happened Christmas day had stirred something in Achilles.

 

Achilles had realised there was still good in the hearts of Men. That there was still hope for Man Kind. 

 

Achilles and Patroclus sent letters to each other. Twice a month. And whilst Achilles received these he had peace. He knew his son was safe and Patroclus was well. 

 

But then the German army marched towards Paris, and the letters trailed off. And one day Achilles realised he hadn’t received a letter from Patroclus in weeks. 

After the war he had spent his years training new recruits for the army. Now he was retired, but he still had contacts. Desperately for weeks he tried to find out had had become of Patroclus. 

 

And all the while the Nazi flag flew over Paris. 

Achilles knew that as Patroclus was a German, an ex-army member that he would be treated better than the rest of Paris. But he also knew that Patroclus was not one to sit and just watch injustices happen.

 

Achilles still remembered the Witch Trials. 

 

And the one day, finally, there was word about Patroclus. 

 

Not from one of Achilles’ contacts, not even from Patroclus himself. 

 

No the word came from Aiden. Aiden was with Patroclus. Fighting for Frances’ freedom. Fighting for her liberty. 

 

And whilst Achilles was worried, in his heart he was so proud. Proud of Patroclus, but proud of his son, who suddenly had become a man. 

 

There was silence for a while, but Achilles understood that.

 

He was coming back from the shops when he realised something was wrong. His neighbours were looking at him and whispering. They looked sad. Achilles turned the corner and saw his house, a house which had a black car parked outside it, and a strange man waiting patiently on his doorstep. 

He had a telegram in his hand. 

 

His son. 

 

Aiden!

 

This could not be. This could not be!

 

Aiden wasn’t dead. Not yet. He had been captured in battle, and been taken to a camp. Achilles knew the whispers. He knew what happened to people who were taken to camps.

 

He went to the nearest army barracks and begged them to let him sign up. He begged them to let him fight. Anything to end the war quicker- his son was running out of time. 

 

For the first time in his lives something, someone, mattered more to him than Patroclus. 

 

The army turned him down. Said they appreciated his service but that he was too old to fight. 

Days turned into weeks turned into months. 

 

Finally, after no word from Aiden, Aiden was declared MIA. He was presumed dead.

 

Achilles let his grief consume him. 

 

He cursed the gods, he cursed fate, and he cursed the whole damn world. 

 

And they say that even the sea wept for Achilles’ loss.

 

Then one day a few years later an army van was driving down the high street. The war was over. The boys were coming home. 

 

One of them walked in to the pub, where Achilles sat hunched over the bar, half a pint in front of him. He didn’t turn round for the army lad in the doorway. But he did take notice when the pub fell silent for the first time since V day. 

 

“Father.”

 

Aiden. 

 

Aiden! 

 

Achilles flew from his seat and flung his arms around his son.

 

Aiden grinned down at Achilles, “hello father.”

 

The whole pub was on its feet applauding- the barman started handing out free pints, word quickly spread through the village. Aiden was home! Achilles had forgotten in his grief, but he and his son lived in a very tiny English village. When word had got around of Aiden’s fate the whole village had mourned. 

 

Everyone knew Aiden- the older members of the village remembered when a very tired looking Achilles had turned up with a small boy in tow. Achilles was now single father. Unusual but Achilles was such a gentleman no one dared say anything. The village had pulled together to help Achilles raise the boy.

 

The local vicar later learnt that Aiden’s mother had died when Aiden was only a few years old. That Achilles had not known of the boy’s existence until Aiden’s mother wrote to him and begged him to look after their son. And Achilles had come. He had devoted his life to looking after Aiden. 

Achilles always kept his promises.

 

The whole village loved Aiden. The news of Aiden’s death had rocked the community to its core.

 

Now that the village knew Aiden was alive! He was home! People started crowding into the pub- any other time the numbers of people would have been very uncomfortable but the mood was so jubilant that no one really cared. It felt like V day all over again, except this time the village felt able to celebrate.

 

Achilles let Aiden be dragged into the jubilant crowd- he would talk to Aiden later. Let the villagers enjoy having their golden son back.

 

It was later when Achilles and Aiden were sat next to the fireside in their own home, cups of tea in their hands that Achilles felt able to ask. 

 

“How? How did you survive Aiden? You were gone for so long, I thought you were dead. “

 

Aiden stared into his tea. “Do you remember me and Otto were helping the French resistance in Paris? We were captured. They…They took us to these headquarters, I’m not sure where, and they asked us questions about the resistance. They wanted names, locations. Stuff like that. We told them we wouldn’t give them anything. But… they really wanted those names…” Aiden’s bottom lip started trembling. 

 

Achilles immediately understood. “They hurt you.”

 

“Yes”

 

“Did you give them the information they wanted?”

 

Aiden looked up from his tea, defiance blazing in his eyes “No. Never. I would rather have died than betray my team.”

 

Achilles felt that pride he had felt before welling up in his chest again. 

 

“Then you beat them Aiden. You denied them what they wanted. You won.”

 

Aiden looked down at his nearly empty cup. He was silent for a long time.

 

“Otto. He tried to protect me. They knew he had fought for their homeland in the Great War. They treated him better than everyone else. Not that that meant much. But. He, he said that I was his son. He swore on his life that I was German. In the Camps he snuck me his food. He said that he was too old. That he wasn’t going to make it. But that I was going to make it. That I had to make it. And I did. But. He didn’t.”

 

Achilles rose from his chair and knelt in front of his son. 

“I will be grateful to my dying day because he saved your life” Achilles looked at his son through tear filled eyes “because he saved you, and in all my life, all the heroic deeds I have done, all the fights I have won, out of everything in my life you are the greatest and most beautiful thing I have ever created.”

Both Aiden and Achilles cried together then. And they both remembered all they had seen in war. And they remembered all those they had lost to war too. 

 

Achilles would live for many more years, he watched his son marry and have children and he saw his grandchildren grow. 

 

He knew he would see Patroclus again. Patroclus had brought him this slice of Elysium with his own blood. He would not waste it. 

 

He when he finally passed through into the next life he was content.

 

And so the cycle continued.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly I'm sorry that this took so long. I've not been well and I just lost motivation- so have an extra long chapter to make up for it! (Although they never seem as long as I think they are when I'm writing them...)
> 
> As always thank you for commenting and reading my story. it does mean a lot!
> 
> -E


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